


Talk

by AnamaryArmygram



Series: Trope Bingo Fills [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Community: trope_bingo, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, F/M, Kink Negotiation, References to Canon-Typical Violence, References to Corporal Punishment of Children, References to Teacher/Student Roleplay, Spanking, Trope Bingo Round 7, still mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnamaryArmygram/pseuds/AnamaryArmygram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Whips and chains are a known factor: they are, in a way, </i>comfortable<i>. The perforated wooden paddle on the coffee table… well, it's a known factor, too. But not a comfortable one.</i></p><p>Or: Angelique has an idea. Napoleon has some reservations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Spanking square on my Trope Bingo card.

“I said I'm not interested.” Napoleon swirls his scotch-and-water, not willing to meet Angelique's eyes.

“And I said I don't understand why not.” She deposits her own drink on the coffee table – right beside the offending object – and extends an arm across the unoccupied side of the loveseat. “Tell me.”

Napoleon, feeling peevish, ignores the implied invitation. “Because,” he says, “what else will it lead to? Are you going to smack my hands with a ruler? Make me write _I will be a good boy_ a hundred times on the blackboard? I had my fill of that years ago.”

“Don't worry. I don't own a blackboard.”

He smirks. “That must be the only thing you don't own.”

“But don't you get tired of the same thing? Tied up – chained up, maybe – whipped, slapped, forced to your knees…”

The images flicker across his mind; she's getting under his skin again. He looks levelly across at her. “Stop.”

Angelique cocks an eyebrow. “Stopped. But the list doesn't go on much longer than that. And that's my point. Your repertoire is limited. Don't you get enough of these things in your line of work? Don't you get _bored_?”

“Of course not. Why do you think I _chose_ my line of work?”

It's just a wisecrack, of course. But Napoleon has to admit that she's on to something. They've never done anything in the bedroom that doesn't have a direct counterpart in his professional life. And – leaving aside whatever Freud or Krafft-Ebing might have to say about the matter – that does suggest a certain lack of adventurousness. Whips and chains are a known factor: they are, in a way, _comfortable_.

The perforated wooden paddle on the coffee table… well, it's a known factor, too. But not a comfortable one.

Angelique picks up her drink – some godawful concoction of Italian liqueurs, too complicated (Napoleon thinks) to bother making at home – and sips. “Why don't you leave the office at the office for once? Try something new.” She peers at him over the rim of the glass, gauging his expression. She seems to like what she sees.

“The paddle is right out,” says Napoleon. “Sister Mary Aloysius was an admirable woman in many ways, but I have no wish to return to my schooldays.” His eyes settle on Angelique's fingertips, her hard, neat nails. “Why don't we see what you can do with those hands of yours?”

Angelique laughs. “I knew you'd come around.”

* * *

Of course she'd be at this party: THRUSHies do stick together sometimes. Napoleon manages to mingle away from her for most of the evening.

He does not, however, manage to keep Illya ignorant of the fact. While the host is safely visible – chatting up a countess next to the grandfather clock – the Russian sidles up to Napoleon and says: “I think you're avoiding that woman” – with a dart of his eyes he indicates Angelique – “for once. Care to tell me why?”

“I don't feel like mixing business with pleasure tonight.” He has already stayed in one place for too long. Angelique has spotted him, and is approaching as they speak.

“You're as nervous as a fly on a hot plate,” says Illya. “I think you ought to sit down.”

“I don't know how you do things back home, _tovarisch_ , but in America we don't come to cocktail parties to sit down.”

Angelique is at his shoulder. “Been on his feet all evening, has he?” she says to Illya. “I think I know the reason why.” She favors Napoleon with a conspiratorial smile.

Napoleon takes her arm, steers her away from his partner. Luckily, the host is on the move again, so Illya can return to shadowing him.

Angelique looks unbearably smug. “That was very indiscreet,” says Napoleon. Then he adds, with a touch of bitterness: “You know I've half a mind to turn you over _my_ knee.”

She breaks his grasp and spins away from him, face contorting with silent laughter. But before she walks off she leans in close and whispers: “Later. We'll talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to [EveningInHornersCorners](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningInHornersCorners/) for help with some of the dialogue and phrasing.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing characters as consciously, deliberately kinky, and I'm very much open to feedback on how well or poorly I handled the portrayal of that.


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